


My Roots Are In These Recipes

by maiNuoire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Channukah, Holidays, Jewish Stiles Stilinski, M/M, cooking together, reconnecting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 13:53:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9237875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maiNuoire/pseuds/maiNuoire
Summary: Stiles starts to reconnect with his heritage and remember his mother. He also reconnects with Derek, and they discover some new traditions together. There is a family dinner.





	

**Author's Note:**

> There isn't enough Channukah Sterek content, so I tried to remedy that this holiday season! Please let me know what you think, and I hope next holiday season, some of you will join me in making some Channukah themed stories for our boys.
> 
> The conclusion is in progress!

To say that the holidays hadn't been the same since his mom died would be an understatement. After Claudia's passing, John had packed up most of the decorations along with her clothes; boxes of memories and all the hope that came with lighting the candles and saying the prayers, packed away in a corner of the attic.    
  
Stiles had all but forgotten about Chanukkah, really. He and John had spent the holidays hopping from one friend's to another's, or at home, with no menorah, no latkes, no competitive dreidel playing. Stiles still got gifts, they still wished each other "Happy Chanukkah" in careful tones, but there was no light.   
  
So it was a strange sort of nostalgia and sadness that overcame him when he discovered the box full of Chanukkah things while looking for some old documents he needed for school. He sank slowly to the floor, his legs folding under him in a practised tangle, and running reverent fingers over the edges of his mom's holiday recipe book.     
  
In the box was also Claudia's antique menorah, a handful of brightly painted wooden dreidels, a colorful enameled plate and a small book of prayers, all carefully placed among silver and blue beaded garland. The smooth, cool beads beneath his fingers give him flashes of hanging them in doorways with his mom, laughing and singing along to the radio. His heart stutters in his chest, and he feels a smile tug at the corners of his mouth, a wave of longing rushing through him.   
  
It isn't really a conscious decision to take the box downstairs, but he finds himself sitting at the kitchen table, carefully removing the once cherished pieces and arranging them in front of himself, inspecting each one with eyes and fingers. As he cleans each item with a worn kitchen towel, he lets his mind reach back into long suppressed memories, spiralling through some of the brightest moments of his childhood as he wipes away years of dust both physical and metaphorical.   
  
Reading through his mother's recipe book is almost surreal. He remembers helping her read the instructions and knead dough and peel potatoes, her loopy handwriting peppering the margins with notes and reminders. The stray spot of grease makes him laugh, remembering the way his mother would say that oily fingerprints marked the best recipes. Stiles vaguely notes that Chanukkah is still a few days away, but he thinks he's waited long enough.   
  
It's not long after that he finds himself at the grocery store with the recipe book carefully balanced in the cart. As he places oil, flour, sugar, jelly, eggs and yeast in the cart, he feels a warmth start to settle into his limbs.    
  
In the produce section, he adds onions and potatoes to his basket, and as he is funnier checking a recipe he hears his name called in familiar voice. When he looks up, he finds himself already smiling and meeting green-blue-gold eyes. "Hey, Derek, how are you?"   
  
Derek is smiling, too, and it makes Stiles feel like he's done something important. It also makes him feel a thrill of heat and nerves that have accompanied Derek's presence since Stiles was 16. "Hey. When did you get back in town? I would've-" Derek pulls a face and stops himself from saying more, but the way he looks-- disappointed and confused and a little hopeful, maybe-- causes Stiles' stomach to flip flop with answering emotion.   
  
"Late last night, I've barely had a chance to say hi to my dad and do a load of laundry since my last final exam," Stiles reassures, and the way Derek looks relieved pushes him to continue, "I was going to call you when I got home actually. To invite you to Chanukkah dinner."   
  
Derek's grin returns at the declaration, even as his eyebrows furrow slightly in confusion. "Chanukkah? I didn't know you celebrated." He looks concerned, as though he's missed a vital statistic, and it's incredibly endearing.   
  
"I don't. Or I haven't. Not since my mom died, not really anyway. I'd almost forgotten about how much I liked the holiday, but I was looking for something earlier, and I found all this stuff that used to be hers--ours, I guess--and I remembered all of it. And I guess, with everything that's happened these last few years..." Derek's face does something complicated, and Stiles feels his own do the same. His voice is gentler when he adds “I figured we needed something good. And what I remember about celebrating Chanukkah with my mom? It felt warm and… safe. We deserve that.”

 

“Yeah, I think we do,” Derek says earnestly, still smiling. Stiles realizes suddenly how close they're standing, how Derek's body is less than an arm's length away, how if he took a single step, he'd be able to wrap himself around Derek and rest his head against the soft looking sweater that he's wearing. Stiles has to swallow and physically shake himself to stop from falling down into an inappropriate feelings spiral.

 

Then, Derek steps closer and Stiles almost forgets how to breathe. Derek is reaching out tentatively, and for a moment Stiles is sure he's about to be kissed, but Derek merely gestures at the book Stiles is absently touching. “Was that hers?” He asks it softly and from so close, and Stiles wants to bask in the glowing warmth of the moment. He nods, unsure of his voice, and Derek's lips quirk upwards. “It's nice you have it. So, what time should I come help make dinner?”

 

And, oh. It catches Stiles off guard. The idea of sharing this tradition, this memory, with Derek, of making a new one with him, it's dizzying. He hasn't even told his dad he's doing this yet, though the chances that John will be home in time to enjoy any of it (or to be upset by it) are slim. Suddenly, Stiles wants nothing more than to make Chanukkah dinner with Derek. To light the menorah, and watch the lights dance, and spin dreidels with him.

 

He wants to tell Derek all this, but what he says instead is, “How about 4:30? Shredding potatoes takes a while. And the doughnuts need to rest before we can fry them.”

 

“I'll see you in a couple hours then. What can I bring?”

 

“All I need is y- I mean. If you want to bring something, applesauce is good.” Stiles barely has time to wish for a hole to open up and swallow him, because Derek is hugging him then. It's brief and warm, and Derek's hands drag down Stiles’ arms when he pulls away.

 

“I'm really glad you're home, Stiles. See you soon,” Derek squeezes Stiles’ upper arm and takes a few backwards steps before he turns to walk away, throwing a little wave and a smile at Stiles before disappearing down an aisle.

 

Stiles finds his breath on a sigh of “Me, too.”

 

  


**Author's Note:**

> Come see me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/poetry-protest-pornography)  
> !


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